


Pleased to Meet You, I'm Crazy Too

by SpaghettiCanActivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Crazy Sam Winchester, Dean Hallucination, Emotional Constipation, Gen, Humor, Poor confused Dean, Sassy Dean Winchester, Very very brief and mild Amelia/Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-08-29 09:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16741744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaghettiCanActivist/pseuds/SpaghettiCanActivist
Summary: Sam didn't mean to start seeing his dead brother, the hallucinations just happen. The only problem is, they don't stop even after Dean comes back from Purgatory.In which Sam talks a lot to a Hallucination of Dean, the brothers misunderstand each other, and season seven is saved from the dull character conflict of Amelia-Sam-Dean.





	1. Chapter 1

"But I'm crazy. I swear to God I am."  
-Holden Caulfield

 

Sam hadn't meant to start hallucinating, really, he hadn't. He knew Dean wouldn’t see it that way, no, nu-uh, Dean would think Sam did it just to spite him. Which is why Sam neglected to tell him.

Sam felt, despite a lack of empirical evidence to support it, that maybe because he'd already had so many occasions of hallucination (visions at twenty two, demon blood withdrawals at twenty seven, the occasional event during a case, the after effects of his cage escapade) that he was just more prone to them. Like when you seem to get the same itch several days in a row (years in this case, and hallucinating rather than itching) in the same place, but still, it was the firmest logic he could think up.

Sam also wanted to say that he waited, that his body held out for a few days after Dean's sudden disappearance before saying 'ha, you think you're screwed now Sam?, Just wait and see’. Nope, his brain started its psychotic break about ten minutes after Dean blew up, right about the time Sam started trying to push the Impala out of the building because it was stuck and the back wheels couldn't get traction.

He remembered the exact moment, because he'd just thought to himself that he should call Bobby.

“He's dead, dumbass.”

The voice was definitely Dean's. And Sam had wanted to hug him, but he was tired, his head hurt, and the Impala was stuck, all the while Dean was leaned up against a pillar watching Sam work his concussed ass off for the car said douchebag brother claimed to love. 

“Help me, jerk,” Sam had spit out.

Dean had cocked his head in confusion, but he'd stayed propped up against the wall, arms folded and looking too much like a self-assured pompous ass.

“I can't Sammy.”

There had been a tinge of regret in the tone. Sam had frowned, looking up to Dean. 

“Why not?” Sam had said in an almost comically slow voice, as though his concussed brain was starting to catch up to a few recent events such as, I don't know, said brother disappearing along with Dick Roman (double entendre completely intended).

“So much for all that college, kiddo,” Dean had said, pushing off from the wall and swinging his arms.

Sam had frowned, genuinely concerned. 

“I'm in your head,” Dean had spread his hands with a 'what can you do?’ gesture. “Dean's gone.”

Sam had blinked, clutched his head and then turned back to the Impala, continuing on pushing it out of the building. He didn't have time for stupid hallucination brothers. His head hurt, and Dean was gone and so was Bobby and all that mattered was saving the Impala.

“Y'know, you might as well not save it, Dean's not coming back.”

Sam had ignored hallucination Dean, but there was a pang in his heart because this Dean just might be right.

 

Sam also would've like to say that he'd charged off and tracked down all the remaining Leviathan, had successfully researched a way to retrieve Dean to restore the dream team, and that he'd thrown in a few heroic but not a big deal but kinda big deal cases to go with it, all the while his abs gleaming in moonlight while his hair streamed behind him as a luscious mane. 

He fell short of that dream by about every standard. He only managed to research Dean's glorious resurrection, very very unsuccessfully, and to keep his hair from falling out. Hallucination Dean stuck around, an ever present voice of reason and wise ass remarks. He was surprisingly knowledgeable in hair products, and in part, Sam's hair, though not quite the luscious mane he envisioned, managed to stay free of most split ends.

A ragged, totally not crazed looking Sam had finally ended up on Missouri's doorstep. The long time friend of the Winchesters and psychic had peered warily at him but invited him in anyways. Hallucination Dean had helpfully supplied that the years hadn't done much for Missouri's figure. Sam had barely kept from snapping at his hallucination to shut it. Missouri had shot him an odd look as he glared at the kitchen fridge, Sam had smiled reassuringly (i.e. manically) and Missouri had given him a faltering smile in return.

As she had stepped towards the table to sit down Sam had hissed a few words of chastisement at his imaginary Dean before then taking a seat. He had pretended to not see her open look of concern and peturbance.

The case was laid out, Sam's tone unknowingly desperate and filled with false, manic hope as he expressed his belief that he was so close to finding Dean. Throughout the story Missouri's gaze had shifted from wariness to a well intentioned pity. Sam didn't even see it.

Finally Sam had finished his story.

“Sam,” Missouri had said, tone soft but firm. “We'll see where your brother is.”

Sam had nodded in eager apprehension. He'd been waiting, working towards this, because no matter what Hallucination Dean said, he was getting his brother back.

Missouri had closed her eyes. It took several long, quiet minutes, but finally she opened them.

Sam had stared at her expectantly.

“Dean ain't on this Earth,” Missouri had explained solemnly.

“Shucks, Hell again, what a surprise,” Hallucination Dean had said dryly.

Sam's face had fallen, grief overwhelming him. 

“Oh no, baby, don't worry, he ain't in hell either,” Missouri had hastened to reassure.

Sam's head had snapped up, shoulders unslumping. He had been confused.

“Wh-where is he?”

Missouri had smiled softly.

“Why, he's in heaven I reckon.”

Sam's mind had gone blank. 

Hallucination Dean had whistled. “Would you imagine that?”

Heaven. Without Sam. Heaven, with Dad and Mom and Bobby and burgers and Ellen and Jo and-and-. Without Sam.

Missouri had grabbed his hand then, spouted a bunch of kind words, told Sam to make himself a life and to honor Dean's memory. Things like that. Sam had stopped listening though. He had dumbly withdrew his hand, thanked Missouri, and left. He drove in the Impala to a liquor store before returning to his motel room.

Hallucination Dean had sat on real Dean's bed while Sam kicked his shoes off and opened a bottle of Spicebox whiskey.

“Damn Sammy, at least pretend like you're the priss outta the two of us.”

Sam had huffed in misery and awkwardly scooted up on his bed. With his head leant against the headboard and his knees up and one taking the temporary weight of the bottle, Sam had stared at the canary yellow wall.

Hallucination Dean had just watched him with a mixture of disgust and amusement. He hadn’t said anything until Sam had started crying.

“God, you always were a pathetic drunk, remember that time when you were fifteen. You vomited all over me and wouldn't stop crying about Ashley Middleton, you were such a bitch.”

Sam had sniffed, wiping clumsily at his tears.

“Still are a bitch,” Hallucination Dean had tacked on with annoyance.

“You're not real,” Sam had huffed in a sad pouting voice.

Hallucination Dean had laughed at that, leaning back to sprawl across his bed. His spiky haired head had turned and Sam had met the familiar sharp green eyes.

“Yeah, but I'm in you head.”

Sam had looked away and tried to ignore the smug tone.

 

Sam had spent the next week drinking and moping and generally feeling sorry for himself. Dean was his stone cold number one. Very cold, death wasn't exactly warm. These events were interspersed with Hallucination Dean's acerbic and often times witty comments. ‘Damn Sammy, you got enough cheap liquor in you to get a vampire drunk’ or 'Dean’s gotta be celebrating, I'm a part of your mind and even I'm getting sick of the Sally sob act’.

Sam had pulled out of it though, because something Hallucination Dean said got his mind going. 'Missouri's getting old and being a psychic isn't exactly a precise artform, bet the old cow doesn't know the difference between a dead body and the warts on her toes’. Hallucination Dean wasn't exactly the nicest person in the world. But it had prompted Sam to remember John Winchester's long forgotten rule. Check your facts, then check 'em again, then check 'em a third time because even then you might get killed because you missed something.

So, for the next six months, Sam had gone to every psychic he knew and more, he'd picked up a few tricks in necromancy, and all of them promised him that his brother was neither in hell nor on Earth. At the six month mark, a string of annoyed psychics behind him and more than a few fumbled cases, Sam had sat in the Impala trying to come to terms with life. It felt like a horror version of a bad independent film.

“You're kind of selfish you know,” Hallucination Dean had lazily said from where he was sitting in the passenger seat, elbow propped up by the door.

Sam had blinked, swallowing hard around the bitter stone lodged in his throat. Dean was right, this was selfish. If his brother was in heaven, and probably for the first time in his life happy, then Sam had nothing except selfishness as an excuse to break him out.

“It's kind of like you though, you were always the one who thought of themselves first,” Hallucination Dean said, and then, because this Dean was in Sam's head and privy to all his thoughts. “I mean, even when you threw yourself in the cage, you didn't do that because you wanted to save the world, no, you did it because your pansy ass wanted big brother to love you again, to believe in you. It's really fucking pathetic.”

So Sam had decided that maybe he wouldn't be as selfish this time. He could let his brother be, and experience an eternity of happiness. Maybe he'd never see him again, because Sam already knew heaven wasn't exactly in the cards for him, but what did that matter if Dean was happy?

Sam however, had made one selfish choice. He had started to talk to the Hallucination, knowing that he was just making a very poor substitution, but one he needed.

Sam had set out then to fulfill the Winchester family maxim. Though to be honest he kind of did a bang up job. His sixth hunt in Sam had been facing off against a werewolf. It wasn't a hard hunt, really, the werewolf was a scrawny loser (and loser was the nicest way to describe a guy whose hobbies consisted of porn, low key stalking and screaming at his grandma) that barely even understood how to walk upstairs let alone eat a heart.

But Sam had started to only keep company with his Hallucination. So when he had waltzed into Grandma Loser's house he had gone in with the silly little misconception that Dean had his back. And indeed the Hallucination was there, strolling in after Sam. But the Hallucination was in Sam's head, and as much as it acted like Dean it only could perceive or know what Sam had.

Sam had been blindsided by the werewolf, inexpert and starving claws shredding his left shoulder blade. Sam had seen in a flash as he tumbled to the ground the composing body of granny. He had realized belatedly as the Hallucination looked down at him with callous apathy that Dean was not here and that his brother would not save him.

Instead a dog had. Apparently the already injured Labrador who had valiantly tried to save its mistress’ life also thought Sam was worth risking life and limb for.

The Labrador gave Sam just enough time to recover his wits and shoot the werewolf through the heart.

With his head spinning, Sam had tottered over to the dog. The poor thing was bleeding out. Sam had started crying because he knew it was his fault.

This is what had lead to Sam taking the Labrador to an animal hospital. They had taken the dog before promptly sending Sam to the hospital. When Sam had woken up, he had said it was an animal attack, believable enough. They told him his dog had saved his life and that he and his noble companion would pull through. Then they had asked for the dog's name.

Hallucination Dean was currently seated stop one of the machines, blatantly disrespectful.

“Call it Old Yeller, knowing you Sammy you'll have to put it down.”

Sam had winced at the comment and the nurse had assumed it was from pain. As more pain killers were pumped into his system, Sam had looked in lugubrious puppy dog faced sadness at the Hallucination. The Hallucination had thrown on a classic Dean Winchester, one of a kind, shit eating grin.

“Man, you’re a real riot, you know that dog boy?” 

Sam smiled a little because there was just a hint of affection in the Hallucination’s tone, and even if Dean wasn’t here for real, it was still nice to talk to a fake Dean. Then it had hit him. He had weakly called out for the nurse.

“Riot,” he had said hoarsely. “My dog’s name is Riot.”

She’d smiled and gave a nod of her head.

 

Sam had planned on going back to hunting. Really, he had. Just, well, there was the tiny problem of his roommate. Amelia Richardson was nice and a veterinarian and unfortunately she wasn’t exactly deaf. His second day in she had appeared around her side of the curtain and politely asked who he was talking to. Stunned, Sam had honestly replied that he’d been talking to his brother.

She had promised to not tell the nurses that he was crazy so long as he didn’t tell them that she too also spoke with her dead husband. Apparently he’d died in Afghanistan. The body had been sent back but Amelia had preferred to believe that he was just missing. They had called it a psychotic break, Sam had smiled, because hey, what a coinkydink, he’d had one of those too.

They had made plans to break out of the hospital and then ended up breaking out Riot too. They had fled to Kermit, Texas where Sam took up jobs at the motel they both stayed at while Amelia found work at the local animal hospital. They were both a type of crazy which got along.

Sam told Amelia about hunting and about Dean and about everything. She’d nodded her head, said it sounded less crazy than she was and Sam just about loved her for that. They ignored each others arguments and conversations with their lost loved ones and a perfect sort of routine went in place. Sam promised to let Amelia go if Don ever came back (because Amelia really, truly believed he would) and Amelia promised to let Sam go if Dean ever came back (because Sam didn’t believe he would, but he hoped and hoped and hoped).

 

 

Sam hadn't expected Dean to come back. His big brother was supposed to have been living it large with the spirit in the sky. He'd also not anticipated Dean being in Purgatory. It seemed a pretty big subject for all of the angels to have skipped over, and for it to not have been brought up way back during the apocalypse (ha, way back, like two, now three years, constituted way back) then that meant it was merely an unfortunate imaginary waste of Dante Alighieri's life work.

But no, the damned Italian had to be right, at least about Purgatory existing, and Sam's brother had been suffering there all along. Hallucination Dean had been very smug about that one. He'd crowed about Sam's obliviousness. Who's the weak one now? 

Amelia had saluted Sam, wished him well, and with no tears in her eyes but instead happiness and hope, she’d told him to live life, she’d call and let him know if Don ever came back or if Riot started talking (they had bets about it, pretty sure one of them would start hallucinating more).

 

Not expecting something didn’t mean it was unwanted (babies for example) and Sam had driven for hours and hours to meet up with his brother. But this Dean was strange, and different and Sam could feel the stiffness and reluctance in his hug. It had hurt.

“Guess he’s not too happy to see you Sammy, too bad about that.”

Sam had ignored his Hallucination and tried to make sure the sweet of the reunion outweighed the bitter. Somehow though it didn’t. Sam, afraid of rejection and disappointment, gave Dean a few poorly thought out lies. Dean still hadn’t looked happy with them.


	2. Bravo! Bravo!

Dean was a little suspicious, just a little and he was a little hurt, just a little. Sam had shacked up with some girl, Amelia Bedelia, and cozied down to a happy Dean free life. Maybe he’d cried a little about it, just a little, not even cried really, it was a lonely man tear in the dark (okay, maybe he’d done some ugly sobbing in the Impala with whiskey and peanut m&ms). But coming back to a seemingly A-Okay Sam who hadn’t missed him at all and had started an apple-pie life without him (something he’d silently decided was impossible for Sam to do without him because apple-pie life needed a cool uncle) had been the blow that laid him low.

He loved Sam though, he really did, even if he didn’t often want to call it that. So he stuck around and tried his best. Sam didn’t seem to help though, he was distracted and ditzy, bumbling on hunts. Sometimes, he’d just give Dean these wide eyed, blank stares which Dean had no idea what to do with.

Needless to say, he talked to Benny, pouted about his brother's lack of codependency (because really, at this point his pride was too shabby to call it anything else) and he put on a beautiful display in the art of the cold shoulder. Dean had never claimed to be anything but petty, nor had he ever said he was some magnanimous saint of an action movie. He was Dean Winchester, reasonably immoral, lover of beer and women, impious at best, downright blasphemous at worst, pouter, holder of grudges a mile long and infamous teller of immature jokes. He barely rated as an adult.

So yes, he was going to cold shoulder Sammy till his little brother appeased his hurting ego, just like when Dean gave Sam the silent treatment for a month when his brother refused to fess up to a missing Eggo waffle. Petty, ha, Dean Winchester was an expert in petty. Though to be fair, so was Sam. And through it all he loved his brother fiercely.

They’ve just finished up a case in Boulder, after of course figuring things out with Kevin and his mom, sort of. They’re headed towards some possible hunt in Arizona. Dean had been the one to spot it in an online newspaper, one link leading to another as he had boredly perused his brother’s laptop.

Apparently a something, they weren't sure what, was wreaking havoc at a water reservoir. Dean really really wanted it to be a mermaid, like one of the hot ones from H2O or Disney’s Ariel, he had a few bucket list unmentionables that needed ticking off.

So they arrived, checked into a motel and Dean promptly went off for dinner, leaving Sam all by his lonesome.

Stopping by a Wendy's he headed back, images of mermaids swimming through his mind. When he got back, he approached the room, surprised to hear Sam's voice raised in conversation.

Dean burst into the room, expecting to see Sam on the phone, guilty and hiding his secrets. Another Ruby leading him to sin. Instead Sam was laid out on his bed, arms across his face and looking like he had a headache. Dean’s loud entrance caused Sam to jackrabbit up.

Sam did look startled, even a little guilty, but when Dean looked around the room, it was empty and Sam's phone was off and charging seven feet away from the bed Sam was sitting on.

“I heard you talking,” Dean said, voice tight and accusing.

Sam’s face flashed with confusion and then understanding and then guilt. Sam then carefully stowed it all away to place a nice, flimsy neutrality in place.

“I wasn’t,” Sam replied, voice just like when he was little and had sneaked the last of the Lucky Charms and was claiming he hadn’t.

Dean was of course mad, and he stomped around, just like when they were little and he'd figured out the last of the Lucky Charms were gone. Sam rolled over and awkwardly scooched under his blankets. Dean purposefully made lots of noise as he moved around the room.

Finally Dean took a shower. When he came out, Sam was fast asleep. Dean snooped, he searched, he went so far as to look under Sam's pillow. Nothing, zip, nada, a whole fat lot of nothing. There was no phone, no weird hoodoo stuff to communicate magically, not even a pen and paper for old school letter writing. 

Dean scratched his head and realized that logically Sam hadn't been talking to anyone, at least not anyone other than himself. He crawled into bed, confused and a tad worried.

 

 

Sam woke the next morning to Dean sitting on his own bed, looking glumly at him. Real Dean didn't do that, ever, so that must mean it was his hallucination.

Sam cast his eyes about the motel to make sure no one else was there.

“It's a little early isn't it?” Sam asked.

Hallucination Dean shrugged.

“Never too early for bullshit.”

Sam blinked, gave a short nod and began getting dressed.

“I’ve been thinking, I'm not so sure about this case, y'know?” Sam spoke while he was buttoning up his over shirt.

He looked over to see his Hallucination still looking at him oddly. Sam shrugged, sometimes this Dean was weird. Or really Sam was weird, it was his brain.

“You're kinda quiet, I thought you'd be telling me what a pansy I am for being jealous of Benny or, I don't know, something about me being weak.”

Sam was a little pouty, a little. He'd become immune (for the most part) to his hallucination's cruel jibes. In fact, they were almost welcome, if only to hear Dean's voice consistently and to see his brother without a frown.

Hallucination Dean was staring at him, eyes a little wide.

Sam pulled on his boots and raised a brow.

“Jeez, cat must have your tongue. I was wondering, you think Dean accepts bribes of M&Ms? He's still mad, and I get it, but he's always mad, or sad, it's been that way for the last three years. Anyways, maybe he'd like M&Ms, I read that they got a new kind, one with mocha. Nothing beats coffee and chocolate and M&Ms, I think the candy designer --that’s a thing, isn’t it?-- was thinking of Dean when he designed this because-”

Sam kept rambling. Hallucination Dean could be quiet, that was fine by him, he liked being able to talk about whatever he wanted. It reminded him of when he had been younger and him and Dean had just said whatever they wanted to fill the silence of long trips.

Sam turned around.

“Whaddya think about that?”

His hallucination startled, like it hadn't been listening. Finally for the first time since Sam'd woken up it spoke.

“That sounds great.”

Sam blinked.

“Okay, well, I'm gonna see if Dean is held up at a coffee shop or something. I'm starving. Maybe you can take a break, figure something out. You're awful quiet today for being a hallucination.”

With that, Sam stepped out of the motel room.

 

An hour earlier…

Dean hadn't slept much that night. So when he'd woken up he had felt like crap. Something about the whole talking thing had sat on his chest like a big weight, his insecurities (bigger than a school girl's) had come into play and he'd started to worry that maybe it was just like Ruby. Dean was angry and harsh because of purgatory but part of it was some big act to feel like he was older and mature and not a big crybaby who just wanted to curl up on the couch, sob into Sam's lap, eating ice cream, all the while talking about how much he hated stupid stupid purgatory monsters and how they'd made him so miserable.

Sammy was his little brother, his, and what kind of brother forgets his own? Well, Dean thought sheepishly, leaving your thirteen year old brother at Plucky's for five hours because ten minutes in heaven had an unexpected series of encores didn't constitute forgetting. Or that time when he'd left Sam at school because Hilda Meyer had, well, no need to push the teen rating. Okay, so maybe he had a bad memory, but Sammy had a great one, no excuses there.

So Dean, insecurities dancing about, his little man heart moping from being forgotten, dressed before sitting down on his bed. He didn't even realize he was staring at Sam until his brother woke up. And then Sam had started talking.

Dean could only sit in position, confused as hell and wondering when the last time they'd had a conversation like this. It had been a while. Then Sam had started talking about M&Ms and Dean's confusion had risen.

Sam thought he was a hallucination. Sam was consulting his hallucination about candy. Sam was acting like this was perfectly normal and Dean had yet to respond.

It caused Dean to feel regret, Sam was being so honest and open and, well, at ease. For the last three years it was always tense, always doom and gloom, always, always end of the world someone’s fucked up big time. Dean had forgotten that his main job as big brother was to make little brother talk and laugh and enjoy life, to spend an entire ten minutes talking about M&Ms and candy designers.

Dean got lost, regretting and wondering.

It wasn't until Sam walked out of the room that Dean realized his brother was now looking for him. Jumping up he crawled out the window and took off running. 

When he got to Dunkin’ Donuts before Sam he was a little proud of himself, even when the few customers in front of him cast him weirded out looks as he panted, hands on knees trying to catch his breath. He smiled and just as he ordered, Sam came walking in. Dean felt pleased as punch with himself. 

 

The next day, hunt continued and mermaid crossed off the list (to Dean's utter dismay), Dean spent most of the time watching Sam. 

Sam was like how he always was. Hang dog eyes, sort of absent moments which previously Dean had thought to be disinterest and apathy. Now he wondered if it was Sam seeing this 'Dean Hallucination'.

His suspicions were strengthened when Sam had randomly raised a brow, stern 'get back in line or so help me I'll kill you myself Dean’ look on his face. Only thing was that it was aimed at empty air.

That evening they went back to the motel. Dean felt a little guilty, knowing Sam's secret without Sam having told him. He'd be angry Sam didn't tell him, but it was such a strange thing, Sam hallucinating Dean. He had so many questions and he knew, with the strain that had was between them, that Sam would never feel safe telling Dean about it if Dean just confronted him. There was also a morbid curiosity in Dean, a desire to see and know more without Sam knowing. Like poking at a thing you think might be dead or might be alive. You just wanna do it. Damn the consequences.

 

Dean was beginning to develop an intimate relationship with the bathroom window of the motel. Currently he was wedged half in it, his pants zipper (yes, the zipper which provided ergonomic ease for peeing and which was one of the last shields to his most private of parts) stuck on the window frame. 

The reason for his predicament was his greedy curiosity and preternatural desire to snoop on his sibling (damn Sam for not keeping a diary, that would be infinitely easier to snoop in). Dean had told Sam he would be going out to the nearby bar and to not wait up for him. As soon as he'd gone out the door, Dean had scrambled to the bathroom window where he had propped it open just a bit.

He was red and puffing and trying desperately to be quiet in his attempts to free himself. He ended up having to awkwardly shimmy out of his pants (thank God that the back of the motel was just ugly dead and living pinewood and not a road or something) and ended up pants-less, very red in the face and pondering his now non-existent dignity.

Dean wrangled his jeans from the window, quietly stuffing them back on and wondering how he'd managed to do it without losing a shoe. He appreciated his manly affinity with clothing and that he hadn't had to try that with a pair of skinny jeans on.

Fully clothed, Dean rushed to the bathroom door and put his ear against it. The room was relatively silent, just some shuffling as Sam did something with the bed. Minutes went by, nothing happened, and Dean started to wonder if maybe this was a bad idea after all, he’d forgotten to even think of bringing something to eat (not that a burger would’ve gone through the window any better than he had, not with his planning skills).

Finally, Sam spoke.

“That’s not funny.”

Sam had his bitch tone on, the one he reserved for when Dean said something scathingly witty and terribly smart, Sam was just too stuck up to appreciate his humor. It was a good tone, sort of, at least one connected with a lot of good memories.

Then there was a sigh, the sigh wasn’t such a good sound.

“Yeah, you’re right, but I don’t think Dean meant it, it was a ghost, and ghost influenced stuff doesn’t count. Ellicott didn’t count, the ghost fever, that time in Pensacola.”

There was a beat of silence, as if someone was talking back. Dean really wished he could hear. Maybe, sort of, that was wishing to be hallucinating, not healthy. God, purgatory had messed his head up.

“Dean said he forgave me,” Sam’s voice was forceful, like he was trying to mainly convince himself.

“I know he doesn’t hold all of it against me.”

Not even Dean believed Sam. Dean felt guilty, which wasn’t his intention.

Again a silence passed.

“I miss Dean.”

That made Dean feel the worst. It hurt because he never meant to leave Sam, or to stay gone even while he was there. The part of it that hurt the most was that Dean missed Sam and he had thought that he was the only that felt that way.

“I don’t want to talk anymore today,” Sam finally said.

Dean heard movement and then Sam shuffling his way around the room. It sounded familiar. Understanding was slow to dawn, but when it did Dean was scrambling backwards and panicking. What exactly was he supposed to do? Give him a ghost or even a werewolf, he’d have a plan. But Sam wanted to take a shower and Dean was in the bathroom, when he said he was going to be at a bar. Dean was good at talking his way out of complicated situations but this one was beyond him.

With the vague hope that Sam would forget his shampoo or something, Dean ducked into the shower and closed the curtain as silently as he could.

Sam opened the door and Dean crossed his fingers. A moment later the shower curtain was pulled back. Sam was staring down at Dean. Dean smiled, a big grin showing teeth, the kind you pulled out when you got caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

“Hey,” he said.

Sam frowned, nose twitching. He shook his head in annoyance and turned around, stomping away and muttering.

“Stupid Hallucination, can’t even let me shower.”

Dean sat in elated shock as the bathroom door slammed shut. Maybe he was better at this snooping stuff than he thought.

**Author's Note:**

> It'll be continued.


End file.
